The jungle victory had made Tafari a rising star in the eyes of his people. Songs were sung about the prince who could outthink enemies older and more experienced than him. Yet, as praise filled the villages and cities, darker whispers began to stir beyond Ethiopia's borders.
In Rome, Italian officials sat in smoke-filled chambers, frowning over maps of the Horn of Africa. The memory of Adwa—where their armies had been humiliated—still burned in their hearts. To them, Tafari's rapid modernization and his new disciplined army posed a far greater danger than mere tribal resistance.
"He must be contained," muttered General Corradini, fingers drumming on the polished oak table. "A prince who studies history, who rebuilds industry, who commands loyalty? Dangerous. Too dangerous."
The Italians did not move openly. Instead, they moved like shadows. They bribed merchants to spread false rumors of Tafari's cruelty. They slipped agents into caravans heading south, pretending to be traders. Some were armed with concealed pistols, others carried forged letters designed to create mistrust among Tafari's allies.
The court itself became a breeding ground for intrigue. Nobles whispered in corridors, some jealous of Tafari's growing popularity. Others questioned his reliance on modern weapons and foreign-style drilling. A few wondered aloud if Tafari's vision was not too ambitious, if perhaps he threatened the traditional order of the land.
Letters began arriving anonymously—some claiming Tafari's generals plotted against him, others accusing merchants of treachery. It was the work of Italian hands, stirring doubt.
But Tafari was not blind. He had built a network of watchers, men trained to observe, to follow trails, to listen at doors. These agents began to notice inconsistencies: Italian coins appearing in markets where no Italian trader should be, coded messages hidden in bales of cloth, strange visitors in border towns who vanished by dawn.
Rather than chase ghosts, Tafari set a trap. He ordered false plans to be "leaked"—a convoy of weapons supposedly traveling through dense jungle. Word spread quickly, too quickly. By the time the convoy left the city, Tafari already had sharpshooters hidden along the path, and scouts watching from the trees.
At dusk, shadows moved. A group of armed men leapt from the undergrowth, pistols flashing, daggers glinting. They struck hard at the convoy—only to find themselves facing not unarmed traders, but soldiers in disguise. Shots rang out. Steel clashed in the dark. When the dust settled, three of the intruders were dead, and two captured alive.
Under questioning, the captured agents broke quickly. They were Italians, sent not merely to spy but to sabotage. Their orders were to disrupt Tafari's armories, to assassinate loyal officers, to poison wells if necessary.
The news spread like wildfire. Tafari's court was shaken—foreign hands had already infiltrated so deeply. Yet Tafari himself remained calm.
Standing before his generals, he said:
"The enemy does not always march in columns with banners. Sometimes, they come in silence, with lies instead of spears. If we are to survive, we must sharpen our eyes as well as our swords."
He ordered the creation of a counter-espionage corps, small units tasked with rooting out spies, intercepting letters, and spreading disinformation of their own. Where the Italians sowed confusion, Tafari would sow fear.
But even as Tafari strengthened his grip, a shadow fell closer to home. The Emperor, his father, had grown weaker. His cough lingered, his hands trembled, his eyes often wandered into the distance as if staring at things unseen. The court began to whisper that the days of the old lion were numbered.
The Italians too heard the whispers, and for them, it was an opportunity. If the Emperor fell and Tafari rose too quickly, perhaps the nobility could be fractured, rival factions stirred, civil war encouraged.
For Tafari, every day now became a balance between vigilance abroad and vigilance within. The jungle victory had shown his strength, but the real war,the shadow war was just beginning.
And far away, in Rome, Italian generals raised their glasses.
"Let the boy play at king," one sneered. "When the time comes, he will find we have already poisoned his throne."